


-e

by elistaire



Category: Highlander: The Series
Genre: Cooking, Food, Gen, Ghosts, Halloween, Implied Relationships, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-04-09
Updated: 2011-04-09
Packaged: 2017-10-17 19:21:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,319
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/180333
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elistaire/pseuds/elistaire
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>On Halloween, Methos is invited over to Duncan's for dinner, and some remembrances about Darius.  But something odd is going on.</p>
            </blockquote>





	-e

**Author's Note:**

> -e stands for an electron carrying a negative charge
> 
> This was written on the plane back from Memphis, and is for the Halloween challenge over on hl_challenge_co.

"This is very definitely bizarre, you know," Methos told MacLeod as he passed by the hollowed out pumpkin which grinned into the night with a wide smile and open eyes -- the friendliest jack-o'-lantern Methos could ever remember coming across.

MacLeod shrugged. "It's tradition in some parts of the world."

"Yes, but they're supposed to be scary to fool the demons into thinking you're one of them so they'll leave you alone. Not--not--" Methos flipped a hand at the pumpkin. "Not as if it's just swallowed a canary."

"Maybe I don't want to scare anyone off." He moved to let Methos into his new flat, and Methos could see that not just the front windows had lit paraffin candles in them, but all the windows.

"All Hallow's Eve. When the barriers between the worlds are supposedly at their thinnest and you want the demons to drop by for tea?" Methos rolled his eyes. "You invited me for dinner, you said nothing about it being a dinner party with ghoulish guests."

MacLeod ignored him and walked back to the kitchen and a cutting board, where he was thickly slicing a crusty loaf of bread.

Methos narrowed his eyes, but let the topic drop for the moment. "So, what is for dinner?" Whatever it was, it smelled delicious, and perhaps a little familiar.

"Lamb stew with young green onions." MacLeod waved a hand toward a pot on the stove that must have been sitting there and simmering for hours.

"Sounds good, I haven't had that for years. Since…oh, I don't even know the last time. Probably the last time I visited with Darius. It was one of his favorite dishes."

"Exactly." MacLeod gave one of his small smiles, the kind that meant he was glad, but that convoluted thoughts were still weaving about his head on the subject. "It's just a hopeful indulgence on my part," he explained after a moment, most probably internally calculating if he even wanted to tell what he was truly thinking, "but I thought that since we're in Paris, and tonight is Halloween and, as you so eloquently put it, the souls are out tonight--if not in actuality then just in spirit." He grinned and Methos grinned back at the small joke. "I thought we could remember Darius a little."

Methos put his hand out and touched MacLeod on the forearm, trying for a moment of seriousness amidst their banter and play. "I think some reminiscing is definitely in order."

That small smile again flickered, and Methos knew MacLeod was thinking of his cherished mentor. A small sliver of anguish would always exist in MacLeod's heart because Darius was gone--and gone completely his Quickening lost, which was a layer of tragedy all its own--past the nightmare horror of actually dying was the fear of being entirely lost if one's Quickening ceased to be, even in the state of having been absorbed by another. Personally, Methos was more concerned with the former and would let the latter horror sort itself out, since he intended to never let it happen at all, but there had been moments of philosophical questioning during the years, and it was difficult not to wonder what had happened to others who had gone before, lost beyond measure. Darius' fate weighed heavily on more minds than MacLeod's.

"Well, I hope you don’t skimp on the pepper--Darius always liked his stew well seasoned."

MacLeod pretended to look utterly affronted, and the small smile on his lips moved to a gratitude in his eyes which couldn't quite be hidden by the play acting. "Certainly not! I know how to season it to perfection. Besides, I know for a fact that Darius preferred his stew lightly peppered."

Methos gave MacLeod a dubious look. "1988, MacLeod. Darius made this for me, and I'm telling you, if you want to honor him, you will be generous with the pepper." He picked up the grinder, removed the lid from the pot, and started adding in the pepper. The grains came out in a nearly fine mist, ruining the grand effect, and he fiddled with the adjustor. He snorted in disgust. "You call yourself a man, MacLeod? You're out of pepper."

MacLeod snatched the grinder away. "Easily fixed." He reached for the nearest cabinet door and -- snap -- snatched his hand away. He looked at his fingers.

"You ok?"

MacLeod blinked. "Yeah. Just a zap."

"Static electricity," Methos said wisely. "I once lost a laptop computer to it because I stayed in a house that didn't know shag carpeting wasn't all the rage anymore."

MacLeod shook his head and retrieved the container of peppercorns. "Darius didn't like his stew with a lot of pepper, you know."

"He didn't? I seem to recall differently."

"No," MacLeod said slowly. "He knew you did, so he seasoned it to taste for you."

"Really?" Methos asked. "He told you that?"

"He must have," MacLeod said, but looked confused as he went back to slicing the bread and preparing the table for dinner.

The stew turned out to be divine. Methos discretely peppered his portion while MacLeod was at the fridge retrieving two more beers. He came back to the table and set one down in front of Methos. "I could hear your grinding. You aren't fooling anyone."

"Bah," Methos said and added another twist of the grinder for good measure.

"Don't you think that's enough? You'll ruin the flavor of the meat." MacLeod reached to take the grinder away, his fingers brushing the surface and--snap! "Ouch!" He shook his hand. "I could see the spark on that one."

Methos grinned. "Serves you right. What kind of a host are you, taking away the seasonings? The very nerve. Darius always let me have my own way!"

"Only because when he didn't, you complained all night in bed," MacLeod returned, still looking at his fingers where he'd been zapped. As soon as the words left his lips, he slapped a hand over his mouth and stared at Methos. "I--I--don't know why I said that."

Methos stared back at MacLeod, slightly shocked. He'd never confided in MacLeod that little tidbit, and he was awfully damn sure that Darius would never have broached the subject. Darius had been a priest, after all, and that sort of thing wasn't done, unless of course it was your oldest lover from centuries gone by come to visit, which changed perspective a bit. But still. MacLeod might have guessed. It wasn't unreasonable to think it. Yet….

"I should go," Methos decided.

"Really, I'm sorry." MacLeod looked contrite, slightly miserable, and definitely regretful. Methos still didn't want to stay and hash it out.

"Not a problem." He waved it down. "Darius is gone, it can't hurt him now." He moved to the door.

"But I didn't know, I swear."

"Don't be ridiculous, MacLeod. You just said it out loud. Obviously you knew." Methos sighed. He'd had too much to drink if such a little secret being known rattled him. But it had been personal between he and Darius, and he wasn't quite ready to deal with all of the heartache for that. He was a little closer to MacLeod's sliver of anguish than he thought--gone forever and Methos couldn't hunt down an Immortal to get Darius back in even the smallest way, as a Quickening held deep inside. With a shake of his head, he reached out for the doorknob and--snap!

Behind him, MacLeod fell silent.

Methos stared at his hand. In his head was something entirely new, unexpected, and completely precious. It seemed MacLeod's forlorn machinations and welcoming in of any presence that walked the night--or more likely, any small remnant of who had once been--hadn't entirely been in vain.

Methos spoke slowly, tasting the memory as he formed the words. "Did you know, Darius had a particular fondness for wild strawberries?"


End file.
